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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25425763">no time for spreadin' roots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkEnthusiast/pseuds/SharkEnthusiast'>SharkEnthusiast</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>dark attic of lilies, bed of the moon [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Dead Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, F/M, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle &amp; Dean Winchester Friendship, Jo Harvelle Lives, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, POV Jo Harvelle, Protective Dean Winchester, Sad Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Stanford Student Sam Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, thats the major character death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 08:02:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25425763</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkEnthusiast/pseuds/SharkEnthusiast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They drive all the way down to Palo Alto to visit Dean’s kid brother Sam, and it takes them 2 weeks even when it should really only take 3 days. Culver, Indiana has nothing for them, anyway, and Dean’s dad isn’t picking up the phone. On the way there, Jo learns. Learns that he’s got a smile like a switchblade, freckles across his nose, a shitty sense of humor, and a vocabulary of cobbled together words and phrases from moving all around the country when he was a kid.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, Ellen Harvelle &amp; Jo Harvelle, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle &amp; Dean Winchester, Jo Harvelle/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>dark attic of lilies, bed of the moon [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>no time for spreadin' roots</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heres the second instilation of my series "dark attic of lilies, bed of the moon".</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They drive all the way down to Palo Alto to visit Dean’s kid brother Sam, and it takes them 2 weeks even when it should really only take 3 days. Culver, Indiana has nothing for them, anyway, and Dean’s dad isn’t picking up the phone. On the way there, Jo learns. Learns that he’s got a smile like a switchblade, freckles across his nose, a shitty sense of humor, and a vocabulary of cobbled together words and phrases from moving all around the country when he was a kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mainly the midwest,” he tells her, switchblade smile and all, even if it doesn’t explain the Texas in him that peeks out every-once-in-awhile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She learns him, and he learns her, solves her like a puzzle. They listen to Bob Seger all through Illinois and Iowa cause she’s always liked his stuff, and when they hit the Wyoming border he shoves Metallica into his tape deck and plays it so much that by the time they near Nevada, she knows all the words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sings Enter Sandman like nobody’s business, air guitar and all, and when Jo sings along he pesters her about getting all the words wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shuddup,” she says back, smacks him over the head, a little too light to be cruel, but just hard enough to mean it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow!” he wines, makes a huge deal about it, groaning and fake crying, the whole shebang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sends her another grin, and she can’t help but smile back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean gets broody and quiet the nearer they get to Stanford and Jo tries her hardest not to care. He drives for 12 hours straight, running on fumes, and when Jo asks if she can drive for the 3rd time, he snaps at her and then almost wrecks the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he mutters, now situated in the passenger seat. He’s staring at her, angry look still on his face. “Can you even see over the goddamn dash?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s not even that small, anyway, so she turns to him, eyebrows raised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna tell me what's up or are you gonna keep acting like a total pissbaby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorts, shifts in his seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pissbaby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She keeps her eyebrow raised. He sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he repeats. Runs a spare hand through his hair, exhales through his nose. “I haven’t seen Sammy in a really long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods, pretends she understands. She’s never had a sibling like that, a brother she would die for. Ash is the closest she’s got, and even then, she doesn’t understand Dean and Sammy, not at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continues, licks his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He left, you know? Left me. Left </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I just don’t get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know what to say, so she doesn’t say anything. Just listens to the purr of the engine, listens to Ramble On on the tape deck, turned all the way down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels like she should give him something in return. A piece of herself, insight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was in college,” she finally says, turning on the blinker, all casual.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You?” Dean asks, stares a little. “You’re not now, though, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, don’t think I’m smart enough?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He eyes her. Shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Technically I’m taking a ‘break’,” She lifts a hand off the wheel to use air quotes. “Cause my mom is too stubborn to let me drop out for good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’d you leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was hard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, and Jo shrugs, sheepish, then continues. “I was the-the freak with a knife collection. And my dad died doing this, you know? Hunting. It’s just- a good way to be close to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The engine rumbles, purrs. Trees and cars and street lights flash by, and Dean turns up the volume on the music. He taps out the drums onto the dashboard, smiles. Genuine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my favorite song,” he tells her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slips his hand into hers, and Jo doesn’t even try to let go even if his hands are clammy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam Winchester looks nothing like his brother. He’s tall. Taller than Dean, anyway, who’s plenty large enough. When they knock on the door of his apartment, he gets a look on his face like he’s been hit by a truck, but he still pats Dean awkwardly on the shoulder and shakes Jo’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” He asks Dean, who shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotta talk to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, man, I know we didn’t leave on the best of terms, but it’s important. Are you alone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam sighs, and Jo watches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jess is out, so yeah, I guess. I have class in 15 minutes, so hurry up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That your girl?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off, Dean. But yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam looks tired. Dean looks tired. Jo feels tired, too, but this isn’t her place. She begins to turn to the car, just to give them space, but Dean grabs her wrist to stop her. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wants her to stay. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s a weird thing for him to want. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad’s missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” Sam says, and Jo wants to laugh. Wants to leave. She does not know the Winchesters as well as Dean thinks she does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” Dean asks, straightens, jaw grinding, angry. “You’re not hearing me, man. Dad is </span>
  <em>
    <span>missing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swore I was done.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a hunt, it’s a rescue mission. He needs our help if he’s not dead already.” Dean pauses. Sam stares, crosses his arms. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> need your help, man. I can’t do this alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not alone,” Sam says, shifting to face Jo. “You have her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s right. Dean does. It’s not like Jo has anything else better to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waits for someone to say something. Dean is staring at Sam, and Sam is staring back, and Jo watches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that's a no?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam nods, and Dean looks at his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look man, I can’t. Just- give me your number.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just. Keep in touch, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo knows he probably won’t. Dean and her walk back to the car, and he puts the music on at full volume. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, whatever</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The beds at the Glass Slipper Inn are hard as rocks, but Dean is warm and soft and nice-ish, so they share one. Jo acts like she doesn’t know how bad of an idea this is, and Dean does the same, so they spend the night pretending, heads propped up on the pillows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo does not talk about Sam. She makes an effort to avoid it. Instead they talk about knives and guns, of blood and stitches, of fathers and mothers, of death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you like hunting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good at it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hums, and his hand brushes her cheekbone. His tee-shirt has a rip in the collar, and Jo’s tank top has moth holes littering the hem. What a raggedy mess they both are, a whirlwind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuckin’ mystery man,” she mumbles, and he laughs, loud enough to wake Jo up enough to open her eyes all the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he mumbles back, and Jo snorts. What a mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s cell phone rings on the bed-side table, and he scrambles to get it, checks the number, then flicks it open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy,” Dean whispers, then clears his throat. “Everything okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean.” The voice on the other end sounds scared and tinny, and Dean sits straight up. “Something’s wrong-” The line crackles, stutters. “Someone’s in here with us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam? What is it?” Dean sounds panicked, shaky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god-” Sam's voice is getting distant. “Fuck!” he says, and something clatters. Silence echoes, and Dean stumbles out of bed, grabs the keys from the pocket of his coat. He gestures for her to follow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going back in! It’s- fuck- Dean!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line crackles, fizzles, dies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean drags her to the car, speeds the whole way there. His tape is still in, and Jo doesn’t dare fucking speaking because Sam’s words ring in her ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Someone’s in here with us. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean presses down harder on the gas. Jo breathes in, holds it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Someone’s in here with us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes 7 minutes for them to make their way to Sam’s apartment, and when they get there, it’s 8 minutes too late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apartment is on fire, smoke billowing from the windows. The neighbors are crowded by the sidewalk, and Dean shoves his way to the front. The windows explode, and the Jo yelps, just a little, but Dean stands straight, stares into the fire. Sirens wail, smoke billows, fire roars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they get there, it’s 8 minutes too late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam is 8 minutes dead. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was already not canon complaint, but here's where it really diverts. The title is from Rambling On by Metallica. <br/>This kind of dragged for me, and Jo's characterization gave me a hard time, however I'm very excited for the 3rd and 4th instillation of this series, so watch out for more!<br/>(Sorry for all of them being out of character! I had a really hard time with it! Sorry!)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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